


call me by my made-up name

by seokkmin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seokkmin/pseuds/seokkmin
Summary: In which a U-19 team-building activity gives birth to a brewing friendship between Hyogo's resident obnoxious asshole and Tokyo's prickliest sea urchin.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	call me by my made-up name

**Author's Note:**

> how the hell did atsumu make up omi-kun. that is the question. this is my humble contribution to the ever creeping brain rot that is sakuatsu.

Whoever decided on having this activity was going to _hell,_ Atsumu thinks.

He doesn’t have a conclusive culprit yet, but he’s placing his bets on Fushigiro-sensei. The assistant coach has an air of satisfaction around him, hands on his hips and a satisfied smile on his face. Atsumu maybe wants to punch him, but he’s beyond hurting elders, so he settles for punching imaginary Osamu instead. It checks out because it’s Osamu’s fault for not making it to camp and leaving him to do this godforsaken activity with no other than Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Speaking of which- the human highlighter is now poring over the leaflet they’ve been given, contemplatively scanning the prepared questions meant to have them open up to each other about their love for volleyball and get to know each other better. _All in the name of nurturing camaraderie and team spirit_ , Fushigiro-sensei said. Camaraderie and team spirit are concepts Atsumu absolutely does _not_ vibe with. Sakusa Kiyoomi is another.

“Miya.” Sakusa says, expression as dry as a rice field during a drought. “When did your love for volleyball begin.”

“We don’t actually have to do this, Sakusa.” Atsumu says. Sakusa looks at him blankly.

“Yes, we do.”

“No, we don’t.”

“ _Miya_.”

“You don’t mean to tell me you _actually_ want to know me better?” Atsumu says, incredulous.

Sakusa rolls his eyes. They're droopy and expressive, dark irises rendered even darker juxtaposed against the white mask covering half his face. Atsumu hasn't really had a chance to observe them up close; across the net, he can just barely make out their narrowed shape as Sakusa glares at him for whatever reason. Not that Atsumu _wants_ to observe. That would be absurd. 

Sakusa scoffs. "Of course _not._ Are you stupid?"

Enraged, Atsumu opens his mouth to retort but Sakusa leans in impossibly close, hands on his knees as he leans forward to place his face near Atsumu's. Sakusa's aversion to sharing his personal space- which by the way, has an illogical radius of like, five feet or something- is no secret in the volleyball community. It makes no sense for him to be _this near_ Atsumu, that if Sakusa were to pull down his mask and exhale, the warmth of his breath will touch Atsumu's cheek. Atsumu hardly feels nervous- consequences of being callous and shit-talked by Osamu everyday- but he's holding his breath in anticipation of what Sakusa will say.

"Listen here, Miya." Sakusa's voice drops to a furious whisper, though his expression remains placid. "Fushigiro-sensei is literally the most important man in this room right now. If you want to stay in his good graces and, more importantly, the _Olympic team,_ then you're gonna have to do this with me."

Sakusa moves away and crosses his arms, subtly tilting his head to where Fushigiro-sensei is standing, looking at them with a proud smile on his face. He must've thought their little exchange was all in the spirit of- what was it again? Atsumu stares at Sakusa's eyes again. He raises an eyebrow smugly as if to say, _see?_

God, he _hates_ losing (and to Sakusa _especially_ ) but he makes an excellent point.

Sakusa might think Atsumu's pained silence is a sign of disagreement because he adds, “If this is about the ball you took to the face last Inter High, I’m not gonna apologize for it.”

"Eat shit, Sakusa!" Atsumu snaps, unable to control himself. 

"The only _shit_ I see here are your receives." Sakusa says, matter-of-factly. There's a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes him look his age, shedding the intimidating and gloomy air he conjures with his slouch and his stink-eye and his mask.

"I'm gonna make you eat dust the next time we meet." Atsumu threatens, wagging a finger in Sakusa's face. Sakusa only raises an eyebrow, amused. 

"Whatever you say, Miya." Sakusa ignores him still fuming and scans the leaflet once again, face brighter than before. "Here, answer this for me. What do you dislike about volleyball? Let me guess-" he holds up a hand and taps his chin thoughtfully. The whole display is absurd, stemming from the fact that Atsumu never expected Sakusa to be this playful or dramatic. "Is it face-planting serves?"

"It's you." Atsumu replies sweetly, wanting nothing more than to get into a scuffle with Sakusa and kick the frustration out his system like he'd do with Samu. It'd be extra satisfying because he knows he'd win; Sakusa's taller and more muscular, but he looks like he couldn't dodge a punch. The thought brings him some relief. "You're an asshole, Sakusa."

Sakusa honest-to-god _laughs._ "I get that a lot."

Atsumu snorts despite himself. "Me too." 

Sakusa shoots him a look that says he isn't surprised. Atsumu rolls his eyes, grabbing the leaflet and reading it for the first time. He's just about done throwing up in his mouth when he reads _Who's your inspiration?_ when Sakusa says, "Nicknames."

"What?"

"I hate nicknames. It's only my teammates who call me _Sakkun_ and I hate it." Sakusa crosses his arms, looking petulant. It brings Atsumu no small amount of glee knowing Sakusa Kiyoomi, one of Japan's top three high school aces, is deeply disturbed by the idea of _nicknames._ Atsumu tucks the knowledge in for later as he moves on to another question from the leaflet, Sakusa none the wiser that he's given Atsumu plenty of room to work with.

It's only when they've moved deeper into hell- or well, moved on to the next part of the activity which is having each pair share to the group- that Atsumu brandishes his shiny new weapon.

"... what do you think about your partner, Miya?" Fushigiro-sensei asks, enthusiasm untainted despite the now-evident glaring lack of social skills within the U-19 pool.

Atsumu pretends to ponder on his answer. Sakusa is looking at him testily, which spurs him on even more. Atsumu grins at him, the sleazy, obnoxious kind that never fails to tick people off. "I was having a hard time at the start because I don't really like opening up to strangers. But Sakusa here-" Atsumu reaches over and slings an arm around Sakusa, feeling a satisfying shudder go through him, "was just a joy to work with. We had fun, didn't we, _Omi-kun?_ "

The effect is immediate. Sakusa freezes up, turning towards Atsumu with a look of sheer disgust on his face. Atsumu wants to hoot in delight. " _Omi-omi_ is usually so intimidating on the court, but he's actually really fun to talk to. Thank you for pairing us up, sensei."

Atsumu lets Sakusa go, hand resting on his hips. Sakusa looks like he maybe wants the ground to swallow him up, or a giant piano to fall on his head like a 60s cartoon character. Atsumu's not too sure, but he thinks the lump that's curled up on the ground is Motoya Komori losing his shit. Fushigiro-sensei is droning on unperturbed, giving a speech about how Atsumu and Sakusa are shining examples of camaraderie and team spirit. 

Sakusa's still seething by the time they get to sit back down, cross-legged on the floor. Atsumu leans back on his hands, tipping his head back in immense satisfaction at the sour expression on Sakusa’s face.

“Miya,” Atsumu turns to Sakusa, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“You better make it to Spring High. I’ll make you eat another one of my serves.”

Atsumu barks out a laugh, finally able to name the emotion that’s been coloring their entire exchange; the glint in Sakusa’s eyes and his own, genuine smile. It’s happiness. Pure, genuine happiness.

“Sure, Omi-kun.” Atsumu drawls, winking conspiratorially. “It’s a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter!](https://twitter.com/jikookcup/)


End file.
